


I'll Grind Against Your Bones Until Our Marrows Mix

by dirkygoodness



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Body Horror, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Clowns, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, First Time, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hallucinations, Horror, M/M, Pain Kink, Panic Attacks, Pennywise needs his own warning tag, Psychological Horror, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Richie Tozier, Virgin Eddie Kaspbrak, Vomiting, Voyeurism, Walking In On Someone, Wound Play, a little bit of feelings but mostly lust, graphic depictions of the leper, hallucinated threesome and foursome, he is there while they fuck, horror porn, kind of, like the leper lol, pain play, that needs to be a tag, this will eventually have a slightly less fucked up sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirkygoodness/pseuds/dirkygoodness
Summary: "Kiss me, Eddie.” The leper gurgles, and squeezes his face harder, harder until Eddie’s jaw is forced open.A slimy, cold finger dips into his mouth and makes him gag as he tries frantically to get away, clawing at the skin that just slips and squishes, like mush, like mashed potatoes or mud under his fingers.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	I'll Grind Against Your Bones Until Our Marrows Mix

**Author's Note:**

> 😶😶😶😶  
> title from the horror of our love by ludo lmao

Eddie just wanted to leave the hotel; when Richie offered to go get food for everyone, he jumped on the chance to go with him. It’s not that he’s hungry, really he’s far from it. He’s still trembling like a live wire from his run in with Bowers, unable to sit or stand still.

There’s the constant throb of pain in his face that’s barely muddled by the pain medication Beverly had managed to convince him to take as she and Ben had bandaged him. Anytime he talks it’s like he’s being stabbed all over again, the hole in his face pulling in a way that makes him think it’s tearing.

Not to mention the threat of infection if he decides to eat. He might be able to keep some soup down safely, but anything else he doesn’t want to risk. So, yeah. He just wanted to be out of the hotel. 

Richie tries to give idle chatter during the car ride, but Eddie doesn’t offer him much - he’s trying not to talk, doesn’t want to hurt himself. It doesn’t seem to really bother Richie, though, as he just fills the empty spaces where Eddie would normally bater back with fluff and dry humor. 

The restaurant they choose is some burger joint halfway across town, one that Eddie doesn’t recognize the name of so he suspects it’s not a franchise. That and there’s a very visible clown mascot that looks uncomfortably familiar grinning at them from over the logo above the door.

Eddie can’t help the way he sinks further into his chair as he grimaces, eyeing the store. It’s hard for him to tell if he should be scared of this, if this is just another mind-bending fuckery that _It_ is trying to pull over the both of them, or if it’s some innocuous mascot he shouldn’t even blink at. 

“Well that’s comforting,” Richie mutters from his left, quiet enough that Eddie is almost sure it wasn’t intended for him to hear. Still though, he does; glancing over at Richie he instantly spots the way his brows pinch together, his mouth pulled into a thin line. He shifts his hands on the wheel like he’s uncomfortable, and Eddie doesn’t blame him.

Suspects that he shows a similar, if not more strong, uncomfortable look on his face. Richie’s eyes drift from where they’re glued on the foreboding grin of the fast-food clown until they land on Eddie, their gaze meeting in a way that halts them both from anything else. 

Richie’s mouth opens a fraction on a breath, like he’s considering saying something; Eddie can’t stop himself from digging his hands into his shirt and pressing on his stomach, bunching the fabric with nervous energy. He almost opens his mouth to ask that they leave. That they don’t go in and go somewhere else.

He doesn’t care _where,_ just… any other place than this. The storefront is practically a giant neon sign that reads _‘IT IS HERE’._ If the monster wasn’t already planning on fucking with them inside, then it sure was likely to do so soon after; their fear probably was like some kind of smoke signal for the damn thing. 

Before Eddie manages to get the words past his lips, though, Richie speaks. “It’s just a restaurant.” He shrugs, a forced smile pulling at his face in a way that Eddie hates - hates because he knows what Richie looks like when he smiles normally. “Stick together and we’ll be fine, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks out, past the fear and the way his chest warms at the comfort of Richie’s words, despite the fact that he knows it’s foolish.

Richie turns the car off and gets out without further fanfare, and Eddie resigns himself to an upset stomach later and follows after him, shutting the door with far more force than necessary. The inside of the restaurant is - well, it’s underwhelming, considering all their worry outside.

There aren’t many windows but it’s well lit, with black and white marble floors and a hideous wallpaper that was probably left over from the last owner of the building. The tables are cheap, little, dinky wooden things with metal chairs to accompany them.

It’s a small building too, barely enough room to fit six tables in alongside their counter at the back of the room that leads into the kitchen. To the right there’s a large metal door with a glowing green _‘EXIT’_ sign above it, illuminating the surrounding space in a sickly green light. 

Eddie pulls his eyes away as Richie starts to talk to the man behind the counter - a high schooler, probably, his face covered in pimples and a sort of dead bored look on his face as he takes their order. A chicken sandwich for Bev, a salad for Ben, some kind of special burger for Bill, a plain hamburger for Mike, and a double bacon burger with BBQ sauce for Richie because his tastes are the same as ever.

The memory of a younger Richie, mouth entirely covered in sauce, hand full of french fries as he tries to wipe his other hand - also covered in barbeque sauce - on Eddie’s face, hits him like a truck. It startles him, both for the fact that he’s remembering it, and the fact that he could have _possibly_ forgotten it in the first place; at the same time, though, it draws a smile to his face and he can’t help as his eyes skate up to Richie’s profile with a fondness he’s becoming used to again. 

He’s still trying to let the pieces fall back into place, the fragments of how he once felt about the Losers muddled with the horrid recollection of the monster until it’s hard for him to pull the good memories from the bad. He still fights against anything he’s starting to remember, but he _is_ trying.

He hates the fear, the sheer terror that comes with half of the memories and leaves him unable to move; but he craves the familiar, warm nostalgia that comes from the good ones. There’s occasionally a stronger emotion tied to them, that makes his stomach drop in anticipation and his face warm, but he can’t name it yet - probably couldn’t have named it back then, either. 

_“Eddie,”_ A soft voice whispers from somewhere far off, somewhere to his right, and Eddie spins around to face it instantly.

There’s no one there, no one tucked in the corner of the room or hidden next to a table. He doesn’t see the telltale float of a balloon, nor the ominous bystander who stares a little too long with a little too much of a dead eyed expression.

There’s nothing. 

Except, there _is._

Eddie can hear it, faint and distant. Some kind of sounds, people he thinks, or a single person. It’s hard to tell what it is, but they’re making a lot of noise - indistinctly speaking, like hearing a quiet conversation through a wall, muffled.

It almost sounds like noises of distress, high pitched and pained in a way that’s familiar to him but at the same time, so very, very unfamiliar. Someone could be hurt, or hurting, or _dying_ for all Eddie knows. 

But it’s none of his business, he’s dealt with too much already; what’s he going to do, in his condition? He probably couldn’t even talk to whoever it is much through the pain of his wound, let alone enough to call the police for them. And anyway, it’s none of his business, Richie said to stick together and that’s what he intends to do. 

_But they could be hurt._

Eddie, despite all his instincts telling him not to, despite his better judgement, moves forwards to the right side of the building. As he gets closer the noises start to get louder, more noticable, until Eddie is certain that they’re coming from somewhere behind the exit door.

It opens beneath his hand smoothly, despite the noticeable weight of it as he presses the handle down. Past it is a long hallway that branches off in different directions. It’s dimly lit, a stark contrast to the bright of the fast-food place - but he doubts it’s for a nefarious reason.

Or, he tells himself it’s not. This kind of hallway isn’t used for the public. It’s for emergencies, it’s for the staff’s ease of access. It’s not _supposed_ to be lit up like the restaurant. 

The noises are still coming - far louder now, but still a little muffled. They’re down the hallway a ways, a few feet, that Eddie takes cautiously, his hands clenching and unclenching as he practically tip toes down the hallway until he reaches a branching hall that goes off somewhere to his right again.

The noises are far louder now, someone is _definitely_ here but - he still can’t tell if it’s one person or two, or if it’s noises of pain or hushed voices. Despite knowing how close he is, Eddie feels like he’s got his ears plugged.

Like a sort of dissonance between knowing he’s close, and being unable to make out the noises. And it might as well be nothing, but Eddie can’t stand the thought of leaving someone bleeding out and dying. He’s not a hero, far from it. Still though, Eddie manages to take a breath and round the corner into the hallway. 

A heartbeat. One. Two.

There’s two men bent over each other, lain on the ground, one of their backs flush with the concrete floor. His legs are bent up and around the other mans, who is leaning over him, his arms bracketing the laying mans head. They’re both nude, and Eddie can see the blurred image of a cock as they thrust against each other.

“Oh, _yes,_ harder,” The one on his back moans, his hand gripping his partner’s bicep with a force so strong that Eddie can see the skin turn white beneath his fingertips. 

Oh christ. 

The kneeling one’s gaze draws up from his lover until they lock on to Eddie, and instantly his hips stutter to a stop as he freezes. It’s not a moment later before the other man’s eyes draw up to him as well until they’re both staring at him with almost beady eyes, the dim light casting them in a pale, sick light. 

Eddie quickly glances to the floor, turning to his side half-way, a squeaking noise leaving his lips. “I’m - I’m sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t mean to -” _run into people having sex. He thought someone was_ hurt, _fuck, he was so stupid how did he not recognize_ sex _noises from death ones??_

A laugh draws his gaze back to them despite the heat he can feel burning his face hotter than a sunburn. The man on the ground sprawls out, his gaze still locked on Eddie as he practically puts himself on display. The other man sits up straighter, a grin on his face to mirror his partner, toothy and unwelcomingly alluring in a way that makes Eddie swallow hard. 

“Come here.” The kneeling man says, and the man on his back out stretches an arm to him, beckoning. 

Eddie does as he’s told before he can stop himself, until he’s in arms reach of the two men. The one on his back - a brunette, with a rounded, freckled face and startlingly blue eyes - grabs him by the leg and tugs until Eddie relents and sits down on the floor.

The kneeling man - blond, jawline so sharp it could cut stone, dark eyes that are almost black - runs a hand down Eddie’s shoulder, making him jump, angling his body away from him before he can stop himself. It just makes the blond man grin wider, like he’d been expecting that, or like Eddie had made a joke instead. 

The brunette arches up off the floor into his partner, Eddie can see his cock twitch against his stomach. “Keep going,” He says, before glancing back up at Eddie. He reaches for him again, and this time Eddie forces himself to stay still as he strokes over his knee, his thigh.

“Jumpy little voyeur.” 

Eddie wants to protest, to voice the truth of it - he’d thought someone had been in danger, he doesn’t know why he’s still here, he’s sorry he interrupted - but he doesn’t get the chance to. The blond begins again, thrusting with a renewed vigor into the man beneath him, like he’s trying to rock him across the floor until he hits the wall.

The brunette’s moans are pornographic, the way he arches and rocks back against the other man violent and sensual in a way Eddie isn’t familiar with. He’d only ever seen a few videos, and none of them had men in them. They were all dainty women with nearly equally dainty, but bland men; always filmed in a tasteful way that showed little, but accentuated the woman the most.

Now, Eddie can see both of them, both _men_ equally. It’s rough, and it must hurt, the brunette being rocked so hard his back is surly rubbed raw against the ground. But he’s giving as good as he gets, meeting each thrust with one of his own, his nails digging into the arms of his partner and raking down long red streaks. Both their faces are flushed, contorted into pleasure, moans spilling from their lips unbidden and unashamed. 

The blond snakes a hand down between them and takes the brunette’s cock into his hand. Instantly he moans, and arches into the contact, and Eddie can’t take his eyes away as he strokes over him with perfect, practiced precision. Eddie had only felt something like any of this once, when his wife had tried to instigate something.

She’d given him a handjob, jerking him off on the couch as he tried to tell her he was watching the movie, as he tried to wiggle away. She managed to drag his first orgasam from someone else out of him despite his protests, but that’d been as far as it had gone, as _they_ had ever gone. 

Again, this is different. The way the blond man holds him is practiced and gentle despite it’s frantic nature. And it’s welcomed, wanted to the point that the brunette has a hard time figuring out if he wants to arch into the hand or thrust back against the cock inside of him.

Eddie breathes out a hard, long breath, and tries to tell himself to get up and leave. He shouldn’t be watching this - he doesn’t know these people, he doesn’t know what’s happening. It’s too much, too little, Richie is still in the other room waiting for him -

Shit, _Richie._

What would Richie think, if he saw him like this? Sitting here watching these people fuck like rabbits? He’d probably tease him, call him names, get angry, get disgusted. _God_ , Richie -

“Look,” The brunette sighs, and there’s a _hand_ now, at Eddie’s crotch, and it makes him jump, drags him to the present again. “He’s hard.”

“No-” Eddie protests, but - as he looks down at himself, he sees that _yes,_ he _is._ The heat hits him all at once, and he shutters, digging a hand into his shirt, pulling it down to try and cover himself. 

“We’ve been so rude.” The brunette continues, and _oh, fuck,_ he presses the heel of his hand into Eddie’s crotch. 

Heat snaps out through him, up his spine until he can’t stop himself from bending in half, doubling over as he bites back a moan that tries to escape his lips.

A hand grabs Eddie at the back of his neck and drags him up, up, _up_ until he’s face first with the blond now. They’re close to each other - _oh so close,_ he can feel the heat of breath as it ghosts over his face. 

The blond smiles, and leans closer to him, until Eddie can practically feel his lips on him, until his mouth tingles with the promise of contact. “Let’s kiss and make up?” He whispers, and -

Does exactly as he says. His lips are warm and rough, but a pleasant point of contact between them. And despite the fact that Eddie doesn’t even know their names, despite the fact that he hasn’t even kissed his _wife_ more than once, he _likes_ it.

Can’t stop himself as he tips his head back into the kiss, the way his legs open just a fraction for the other man as he palms him through his jeans. He should stop this, should stand and leave, go back to Richie - _fuck, Richie -_ and go back to the Losers.

But he _can’t._

He can’t move, can barely remember to breathe as confusion and guilt and _lust_ swirl almost painfully in his stomach. The hand on him, the lips, feel so good, better than he’s ever felt before.

It’s unfamiliar, and frightening, and _stupid_ but - The blond pulls away, and breathes hot over his face again, and Eddie can’t help but with the contact back again. 

“You feeling alright, sport?” He hears the brunette laugh, one of his hands sliding up his leg, almost reassuringly. 

“You don’t look too good, kinda pale,” The blond laughs, jokes, and Eddie smiles a fraction at it and opens his mouth to respond.

He doesn’t manage to get the words he wants out, the hand at the back of his neck tightens in his hair and _pulls_ back until Eddie’s head is craned back and he winces at the uncomfortable angle. 

“Ow,” Eddie protests, his hand coming up to try and pull the blond’s off of him. His fingers make contact with the arm, but it’s cold and clammy, sticky with something that feels almost like snot.

Eddie frowns, wonders what happened, wonders what got on him. The hand at his neck pulls him closer and Eddie feels the breath over his face again, but this time it isn’t pleasant; the smell is like a sewer, like someone’s vomit bucket when they’ve got the flu. 

“Do you think this will help you get better, Eddie?” Grates out the voice, gargled and warped through a mouth full of flem. Familiar. 

Eddie freezes and feels his entire body go cold. 

Fingers dig painfully into his thigh, a thumb presses hard into his chin until he opens his eyes.

Where the attractive pair had been before now sits two perfect replicas of the leper, their beady eyes staring at him, pus pouring out of their noses and eyes. The one closest to him, who had once been the blond man, grabs his face with the hand not already holding the back of his head.

Grips his chin with a force that brings tears to Eddie’s eyes, makes his bandage bunch and the tape peel. Eddie can’t scream, can’t move, can’t get away but he does manage to dig his fingers into the soft, malleable flesh of the lepers arm as he tries to.

Whimpers, closes his legs around the hands between them, tries to push himself backwards. It’s futile, the grip on him is too strong, and he’s never been good in situations like this, never been good with being afraid. 

“Kiss me, Eddie.” The leper gurgles, and squeezes his face harder, _harder_ until Eddie’s jaw is forced open.

A slimy, cold finger dips into his mouth and makes him gag as he tries frantically to get away, clawing at the skin that just slips and squishes, like mush, like mashed potatoes or mud under his fingers.

He is still unable to get away as the leper tips his head back farther and holds his mouth open wide with a bruising force, until the leper is directly over Eddie now, hovering and backlit horribly by the now flickering overhead lights. The lepers face quivers, his throat constricts and his cheeks hollow, and the noise of a cat getting ready to up a hairball hits Eddie’s ears as his eyes widen.

The leper shakes all over and gags, until he opens his mouth and thick, viscus, black vomit pours out of him like a busted water main and right into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie gags instantly, unable to breathe past the onslaught of liquid pouring into his mouth. The next thing that hits him is the taste, the _awful taste._

Like a mix of tar, dirt, and puke, overwhelming him until he can’t even _think_ past it, can’t do anything but shake uncontrollably as he can feel his lungs constricting, can feel himself _drowning._

A loud, furious scream manages to cut through the panic long enough for Eddie to focus his eyes; just in time to see a blurred brown object smash into the side of the lepers face, dislodging his hands from Eddie’s face.

He goes crashing onto his back on the floor, unable to notice the lights above him flickering back to full strength and holding. He gags again, but this time when the contents of his stomach try and come up they manage it; Eddie rolls over onto his side and vomits, his vision blurred as tears stream down his face.

Something falls to the floor behind him, and he feels hands at his back, his shoulders, gripping him tightly. 

Eddie panics. 

He swings his hands out wildly, blindly, spitting the last of his throw-up onto the floor as his shoes squeak obnoxiously from trying to push himself away from the hand at his back.

It doesn’t work, and instead Eddie is pulled backwards onto his ass, the hands moving to wrap around his chest and _hold_ him still. He screams and kicks his legs, claws at the hands holding him, _bites_ down hard on one of the arms as he thrashes in the hold. 

_“Fuck!”_ Comes a familiar voice, biting through pain. “Fuck, Eddie, stop, it’s me! _It’s Richie!”_

It sure _sounds_ like Richie. Eddie stops kicking long enough to let go of maybe-Richie’s arm, his teeth pulling away and leaving a perfectly, bloody indentation of his upper set of teeth. He sucks in a breath, two, three, tips his head to the side to try and see behind him. 

“R-Richie?” Eddie asks, careful, his voice wobbling and quiet as he says it. “It’s - is that you? Is that really - is that _really_ you?” 

Richie pulls Eddie tight against his chest and leans his head down, making his face almost entirely visible to Eddie from the angle they’re sitting at. He offers a lopsided, broken smile, that makes his eyes squint up and his cheeks swell. 

“It’s me, Eds, it’s me.” 

It’s not some grand answer, it’s not some secret code only they know. But somehow, it’s enough to convince Eddie that yes, this _is_ actually Richie. And only then, once he _knows_ does he break.

A sob bubbles up out of his chest like a punch, and he hiccups futilely as sobs wrack his body, shaking him like a leaf. Richie just holds him and tries to quiet him, but it doesn’t help, not now. Not after that, not after -

Eddie blanches and slaps a hand over his mouth, wiping down frantically as he tries to wipe the black vomit off of him. When he pulls his hands away though, they’re left clean aside from some stray tears and some spit from himself; no evidence is left of what had happened.

When he looks around he doesn’t spot the two lepers, nor their human counterparts, and the entire hallway looks relatively normal. But it _had_ happened, he was sure of it, he had felt himself drowning and had tasted it as the liquid had poured into his mouth and over his chin and onto his shirt. 

He doesn’t realize he’s speaking until Richie hums questioningly, “-I didn’t want that, I didn’t want that, I didn’t-” is Eddie’s mantra that gets louder now. He pushes himself back farther into Richie’s grasp with his feet, like he’s trying to force the both of them back or to entirely disappear against Richie. 

“Nonononono,” Eddie sobs, frantic, clawing his hands down his face to try and get the vomit off of him even though he knows it’s not there - he can still _feel it._

“Get it _off, get it off, getitoffgetitoffgetitoffget-”_

“Eddie, hey, Eddie, stop-” Richie protests, and his hands curl around Eddie’s wrists, stopping his frantic hand movements. He must have knocked his bandage off too, in his panic, because it falls down into Eddie’s lap.

It too, is unstained by the phantom black of the puke, only colored a deep red from where Eddie’s face wound had bled. Eddie shakes his head, pulls his hands frantically from Richie, tries to get out of his grip while at the same time pushes himself farther back against his chest. 

“It was _real,_ it - it _was,_ it was _real,_ I fel- _felt it,”_ Eddie hiccups, can feel his chest heaving, his breathing getting harder, _harder_ like he was having an asthma attack.

_God, was he having an asthma attack?_

“Jesus, Eddie,” Richie says, but it’s not annoyed - it’s frantic, worried. His entire movements are, as he finally lets Eddie’s arms go - only to grab his shoulders once more and bodily spin him until they’re facing each other. 

It might have helped, a few minutes ago, to be looking at his face. But now all it does is make it harder for Eddie to breathe, to think, he can’t _breathe,_ he _can’t-_

Richie is talking to him, or trying to, but Eddie can’t make out any of the words past the roaring in his ears and the pain in his chest.

He doesn’t know what’s being said, knows it’s not helping, not bringing down his fear or his panic, not stopping the wheezing noise that happens as he desperately tries to suck in breaths. Richie grabs his shoulders again, shakes him a little, tries to say something else, and then -

And then Eddie feels lips against his mouth again. They’re softer this time, and warm, a pleasant pressure that isn’t trying to be anything else. His eyes open - _when had he closed them?_ \- and he sees the blurred image of Richie. Because. _Because._

Richie is kissing him.

Oh.

_Oh._

Eddie squeaks, slides his hands up Richie’s chest and grabs fistfulls of his stupid band t-shirt, his eyes slipping closed again. He tentatively presses back, presses back into the kiss, trying to match Richie’s desperate, fearful pressure with his own, still muddled by panic. Richie makes a noise, a sort of punched out breath as he pulls back a fraction.

Eddie’s eyes slide open until he’s looking at Richie’s. They’re close, closer than Eddie had been with the leper before, close enough that Eddie can count Richie’s lashes. Can feel it as Richie breathes, hot and stuttering over his face - this time it doesn’t smell like death. It smells like coffee and french fries. 

“Eddie,” Richie gasps, a question and an apology all wrapped up into one word. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I-” 

Eddie’s eyes trail down to Richie’s lips. Hears the way he sucks in a breath and holds it there. 

“Please,” Eddie breathes out, so quiet he almost worries Richie can’t hear him. “Please, Richie, _please.”_

His eyes flit back up to Richie’s. “Kiss me,” He begs. 

“Fuck,” Richie gasps and, like Eddie had commanded him rather than begged him, Richie drops forwards and presses his lips against Eddie’s again.

This time Eddie opens his mouth for him instantly, using the hold he has on Richie’s shirt to drag him forwards, closer. Richie surges to meet him, one hand on his lower back and the other at his neck as he carefully tips his head back for a better angle. His tongue pushes into Eddie’s mouth at the invitation, and Eddie can’t stop the moan that leaves him if he’d tried.

The kiss turns from tentative, to sure, to heated, devolving until Richie is dragging Eddie’s shirt up to reveal his stomach; Eddie hooks his legs around Richie’s waist and drags himself forwards with the leverage he gets as he plants his feet on the ground behind him, until he’s practically sitting in Richie’s lap.

Richie’s breathing is frantic, heavy pants against his mouth, finally his face as Richie pulls out of the kiss to press a kiss to Eddie’s un-wounded cheek, his chin, under the shell of his ear. His arm snakes up and presses, heavy and warm, against Eddie’s stomach. At the contact Eddie jolts, like Richie had punched him rather than laid his hand against his stomach. 

_“Ah,”_ Eddie gasps, tips his head to the right as Richie kisses along his neck, down to his collarbone.

With his free hand, not currently against Eddie’s stomach, Richie drags his collar down until he can lick a stripe across the spot where Eddie’s shoulder and neck meet. It sends a tingling shiver up his side, rattling his body, shaking him all the way down to his toes. At the same time, the hand at his stomach slides up, up, _up_ until Richie gets a hand over one of his pectorals.

He’s not teasing, or intending anything much, the hand simply curls around Eddie’s chest and holds him still, his thumb pressing into the skin of his chest. Still though, it punches the air out of Eddie, and he instinctively rocks down into Richie’s lap, seeking _something,_ seeking friction, he doesn’t know. He just _wants,_ and he can feel his cock rising anew against the tight confines of his jeans. 

The movement presses Richie’s _very hard_ cock up against Eddie’s ass, sparking a new, unfamiliar sense of pressure and _heat_ against him. _Christ,_ he feels like a teenager, feels strange and frightened and _panicked_ still, from before. Somehow though, that isn’t stopping his rising arousal, or the way that he shivers again when he hears and feels Richie curse against his neck and rock, stuttering, up against him.

Eddie slips his hands around Richie’s neck, up to tangle into the hair at the back of his neck, rolling his hips sheepishly to meet Richie as he rocks against him again. He feels dizzy, feels like his face is burning, can feel the prick of skin as blood rushes to his face in a flush. 

“What the fuck are we doing,” Richie gasps, bewildered, against his neck.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, matching the rhythm Richie sets, rocking and rutting against each other like they’re some kind of highschool kids. He doesn’t know, and doesn’t trust himself to speak to put words to an answer, so instead he makes a little broken noise and kisses Richie’s cheek, his lips burning with need.

Richie seems to know what he wants, seems to understand what he’s trying to say anyway, and turns his head to meet Eddie in another kiss. _Fuck,_ Eddie’s not going to last long like this. He has hardly any experience, barely knows what he’s doing.

He isn’t even out of his pants yet and he can feel pressure building and mounting towards his untimely finish. Still though, he can’t seem to stop himself, to pace himself to make _whatever this is_ last longer. 

_“Eddie,”_ A voice whispers in his ear, and Eddie’s eyes snap open.

There’s Richie, kissing into his mouth, but now there’s the brunette from before hovering over his left shoulder.

This time, he’s some sort of horrid amalgamation of the human form and the leper, his eyes running with pus and tears, his skin a sick color as it’s dotted with sick pocks. He grins, wide and excited, and leans over to rest his chin on Richie’s shoulder as he looks down at Eddie. 

Eddie whines high in his throat, his hands shaking as he retreats them to the front of Richie’s chest at the threat of contact with the apparition. Behind him he feels someone touch his back, and when Richie draws away to kiss his neck again Eddie cranes his neck to see the other man, the blond, now saddled at his back.

He too grins, his body a mixture of the leper and himself, as he presses his nude body up against Eddie’s back. Eddie can feel it, every detail, as if it were as real as Richie is against him. Can feel the man’s unclothed cock slide against his back the same was he feels Richie’s as he ruts down against him.

Eddie digs his fingers into Richie’s skin through his shirt and rocks harder against him, more frantic, unable to stop himself or the heat and lust he feels despite the mounting disgust at the two who have reappeared. 

“Richie, _Rich,”_ Eddie pants, frantic, his thighs nearly squeezing Richie to death as he clamps them around him. “Please, I need, I-I _need,”_ He doesn’t know what he needs.

For Richie to look up and see the monsters and make them go away again, for Richie to keep rocking against him, to come, for Richie to _fuck him._

That particular thought makes Eddie jerk and moan, loud and broken, his hips stuttering but not quite close enough for releaf. Richie’s response to his mindless blabbering, though, is to press him down against the cold of the concrete floor. As he does Eddie notices that the blond man is no longer behind him, and the movement is unhalted by his presence.

He’s thankful for it, thankful when Richie rests his weight against one of his forearms right next to Eddie’s head, bracketing him in as his other hand rubs over Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s legs are now hooked around Richie’s waist and rest against his lower back, his ankles crossed; his ass is lined up perfectly with Richie’s dick, now, so when Richie rocks into him again it makes him gasp at the feeling of it.

Richie is practically laying flat against him, pressing his chest into the ground with his weight. If it were anyone else, Eddie would panic, but now it feels comforting and _safe._ Safe from the monsters Eddie can still hear whispering his name, uttering incoherent praises to him despite being unable to see them anymore past the broad arch of Richie’s shoulders. 

_“Good job.”_ One hisses.

_“Feels good, feels good, Eddie.”_ The other moans.

_“Want it, you know you want it.”_

_“Want him_ in _you.”_

“Richie,” Eddie gasps, his hands sliding up to grab Richie’s face and drag him up until they’re looking at each other.

Richie’s brows are pinched, his mouth hanging open as he pants, his glasses slightly askew and cheeks dark on a blush. Eddie trembles at the sight. 

“Eddie,” Richie pants, turns his head to kiss the palm of one of Eddie’s hands. “God, Eds, you look so good.” 

Eddie arches into him and moans, as the voices rise again in crescendo around him, a chorus of, _“want him, want it, come on, Eddie, want it, want it, want it. Want him in you, want him to fuck you, Eddie, you know you do”._

“Mmhm,” Eddie whines, tears once again rising to sting his eyes, his voice hiccuping as he speaks. “Richie, I need - I need you. Need you to - need you _in_ me, Richie, _please.”_

Richie curses again, his hips stuttering as he rocks forwards, almost tipping over on top of Eddie fully now. Eddie strokes his thumbs over Richie’s cheeks as he breathes out a shaking breath, his eyes locking with Eddie’s. 

“Fuck, Eddie, really? Are you sure?” Richie asks, and his voice trembles on uncertainty and lust, in a way that makes Eddie’s back tingle as he rocks into Richie again, unable to stop himself despite the sudden seriousness of the conversation.

God, he isn’t sure though, he will probably regret this later, regret doing this in some hallway without any protection or preperation, going off half-cocked into this after a near panic attack.

But right now he _wants_ it, can’t help wanting it despite the way the voices egg him on, their voices garbled and lustful; the fear is mounting right alongside his lust but all it’s accomplishing is making him want this _more,_ somehow.

Which.

He’ll probably have to do some thinking about what he _likes,_ later. 

For now, though, Eddie runs his hands over the stubble on Richie’s cheeks and nods, frantically. “Please, Richie, I do, I do want you to. Want you.” His face burns with the obscenity at what he’s saying, but the embarrassment doesn’t manage to stop anything. Nor does it stop him from saying, “Fuck me, Richie.” 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Richie hisses, but he doesn’t need to be told twice. He sits up, steadies himself on his knees as he brings his hands down to Eddie’s fly.

He’s surprisingly skilled at undoing his pants, managing to have them open in less than a minute. He sits back and drags Eddie’s pants and underwear down in one go, Eddie letting out a startled breath as his cock hits the chilled air. Eddie assumes Richie is going to undo his own pants now, logically, but instead he moans and slides down Eddie’s body until -

_“Fuck!”_ Eddie practically screams as Richie swallows him into his mouth in one fell swoop, his hands holding Eddie’s hips firmly up in the air as Eddie frantically drags his feet beneath himself to try and get some sense of grounding. It’s not working, and Richie isn’t stopping, and Eddie isn’t going to last - _fuck,_ he’s not going to -

“Richie,” Eddie whines high in the back of his throat, his fingers threading into Richie’s hair and tugging, trying to warn him even as he knows it’s too late.

He comes before Richie even gets a chance to pull away, his entire body trembling like a leaf in the wind, unable to stop the high, strained noises that leave him; little _‘uh-uh-uh’’s_ filtering from his lips even as he bites his lip to try and stop them.

He feels himself gently lowered back down to the ground, his ass getting the brunt of the cold concrete. He manages to crack an eye open, his breathing still labored as his gaze lands on Richie. 

Richie is kneeling above him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he _swallows, jesus, how unsanitary._ Eddie brings a trembling hand out to reach for Richie, which he instantly takes into his own, entwining their fingers together. 

“Wh-Why’d you do that?” Eddie asks, disappointment mounting despite the fact that he just got to come. 

“Sorry,” Richie has the decency to look apologetic, using his other hand to fish something out of his pocket. “It’ll be easier if you come once, first, though. And uh.” 

Richie pulls out what Eddie recognizes as a packet of portable lube, though no condom. He’s still too amped up to protest, or to care, and he can feel the tickle of voices at the back of his neck, ready to speak again. Richie rips the little packet open and pours a good amount of it - though not all - onto his fingers. 

“I really wanted to taste you,” Richie confesses, and sets the lube packet down as he, with one hand, jerks one of Eddie’s shoes off.

One of his pant legs follows quickly after, until Eddie is left once again with his ass in Richie’s lap, his legs splayed out on either side of his hips, one leg entirely bare except for his sock.

His lubed hand dissapears between them until Eddie can feel it press against him. It’s a shock, startling him so bad he jumps, but Richie wraps a hand around his bare thigh and holds him steady. 

“Do you still want me to…?” Richie asks, his face splitting on worry once more. Eddie opens his mouth to answer - but stops, when he sees the brunette behind Richie once more.

He’s nude still too, and Eddie can see as one of the blisters against his thigh bursts and splatters blood and pus all over his leg and the ground. He once again leans against Richie, wrapping his arms around his neck and licking his cheek, moaning obscenely as mucus spills from his mouth. 

Eddie can’t slow his breathing or the way his eyes blow to the size of saucers, but he does manage to rock down against Richie’s fingers, forcing himself to look at his face and not the brunette.

“Please.” Eddie begs, and Richie gives him a wonderful smile before pressing the first finger into him. 

Now Eddie isn’t an idiot. He _knows_ how gay sex works. He just… doesn’t know how it feels, so he can’t be blamed when he gasps and pulls away from the intrusion. He can’t be blamed either, for the way he jerks when he feels someone’s hands grip his shoulders and _force_ him back down against the fingers until Richie’s finger is all the way in to the knuckle.

Eddie knows without looking that the blond man is holding him again, is forcing him to fuck himself on Richie’s finger, knows that if he looks he’ll see the horrifying visage hovering above him. He also knows that it’s _not real,_ and that Richie is, so he keeps his eyes locked on him and plants his feet, rocking himself onto Richie before the blond man can continue to make him.

They go quick, after that, until Richie has two fingers in him already, their frantic pace from before quickly returning, as quick as Eddie feels his cock harden once more, and christ, he _really_ feels like a teenager now. 

“Jesus, Eds, you’re so sensitive,” Richie moans, pushing in another finger, and Eddie whines again. 

_“So sensitive,”_ The brunette mocks, making a show of rocking against Richie’s back. 

_“Are you gonna last?”_ The blond laughs, and his fingers dig painfully into Eddie’s shoulders. 

“Richie,” Eddie sobs, reaching for him again. “I can’t-” 

“It’s okay,” Richie hushes him, pulls his fingers out, undoes his own fly and pulls himself out.

Fuck.

If Eddie had more time, if they weren’t where they were, if he wasn’t hallucinating, he’d have recorded Richie’s cock to memory. He understands why Richie felt the need to suck him off, before, now that it’s mirrored in his own chest. Both of them are desperate, so Richie doesn’t waste any time as he lines himself up and pushes into Eddie. 

It _burns,_ is the first thing he thinks of. Like how the stab on his face had felt almost, but not as bad. Under it, too, there’s the swell of pleasure as he actually _thinks_ about what’s happening. Richie is _inside_ of him. He’s getting _fucked_ by his childhood best friend while he hallucinates two monsters watching them.

He grips Richie’s biceps - a horrible mirror of the scene he’d first walked in on - and opens his mouth on a silent moan. Finally, _finally_ Richie slides back over him, his arms now both framing Eddie’s head as he leans down on his forearms, doubling in half.

With the angle Eddie once again can’t see the monsters, can only see Richie above him, can only feel him as he finally bottoms out. They stay like that for a little while, as they both try and catch their breaths, but it doesn’t manage to last long.

_“So slow,”_ The blond says behind him, the lights above them flickering like strobe lights. 

_“Break him, Richie,”_ The brunette purrs above them, and before Eddie gets the chance to be horrified at their words he feels Richie jerk his hips forwards.

Eddie gasps as Richie makes a startled noise, like he hadn’t intended to move forwards. And it hurts, it jolts inside Eddie’s spine too soon, too fast, _too much._

But now that they’ve started, neither of them can stop, and every thrust Richie makes Eddie meets head on, jerking back against him. He has no idea what to do, where to put his hands, but he’s still rocking, almost instinctively, seeking friction despite the ache that's mounting in his lower back. 

_“Like it, you_ like _it,”_ He hears someone sing song, but - it’s not the voice of the brunette or the blond. It’s different, but still familiar, still terrifying.

Eddie just rocks down harder against Richie, his cock leaking precome all over his own stomach at a constant rate. 

Out of the corner of his eye Eddie can see a hand - a white, gloved hand, with a frilled sleeve - reach up, slide across the ground to grip Richie’s wrist in a tight hold. So tight his skin goes white from the contact. 

“Richie,” Eddie warns, his voice cracking barely above a whisper. He knows that hand. 

Richie either doesn’t hear, or doesn’t notice his fear, Eddie isn’t sure. Either way he doesn’t answer, just sucks a bruise onto Eddie’s chest as the gloved hand raises Richie’s to Eddie’s face.

Like a puppet on strings, Richie moves as he’s directed, until his hand presses against the wound at Eddie’s cheek. Panic sets in at the base of his stomach like a heavy stone, and he barely manages to get out a terrified whimper before -

White hot, _burning_ pain blooms across his face as Richie’s fingers sink _through_ the wound on his face and past the skin, until Eddie can feel Richie’s fingers touching his tongue.

It _hurts,_ so bad he thinks he’s going to _die,_ he must be dying, but - _but_ his cock twitches and he moans like a whore, rocking against Richie. 

“Stop,” Eddie gurgles out past the fingers pushing his tongue down, past the taste of copper as his wound bleeds again; despite his protest Eddie leans into the touch, leans into the feeling as Richie strokes his tongue through the gaping hole in his cheek.

Feels himself leaking more, faster as Richie practically finger fucks his wound, all the while kissing bruises along his chest, his neck, his collarbone. 

He’s probably the hardest he’s ever been in his entire life. 

Out of the corner of his eye he can see _the hand_ retreat from Richie’s wrist, and Richie’s head snaps up almost instantly as he realizes what he’s doing. 

“Oh my god,” Richie gasps, panic in his voice as he starts to pull his fingers out. “Oh my fucking god, Eddie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Eddie snaps his hand out and grabs Richie’s wrist like the gloved hand had only a moment ago, keeping his hand where it is despite the burning pain, despite knowing it’s unclean, _unsafe, dangerous._ The movement jostles Richie’s hand, forces his fingers in deeper, bringing a new stab of pain blooming out from the wound.

Eddie moans and wraps his legs around Richie’s back, his cock twitching up unbetween then - from the new angle he can feel Richie’s stomach pressed up against his cock, can feel it as he leaves a trail of precome across his stomach. 

“Fuck, Eddie, what the fuck,” Richie asks him but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull his fingers out.

Instead, his hips jerk faster, more frantic, as his fingers once again run over Eddie’s tongue, his thumb holding Eddie’s mouth open by his chin so he can see what he’s doing to him. 

God, it hurts, but it’s bringing him to the edge, he can feel the pressure in his stomach mounting. Any little thing, any little bit of friction is going to push him over the edge, going to make him come all over their stomachs.

His eyes open blurry as Richie presses his head against Eddie’s neck again. Above him, behind Richie’s back once more is another figure. But this time it isn’t the brunette. 

Pennywise stands, his face split in a constantly growing smile that seems to morph horrifically as his tongue comes falling out of his face. Drool and spit poor over his lips, his teeth, down onto Richie’s back and onto Eddie’s face, his cheek, into his eye until he has to squint and jerk away from it. 

_“Why don’t you come to play with me, Eddie?”_ It asks, body twitching like he was connected to a car battery. _“Don’t you like me? Don’t you like us? Don’t you, don’t you, don’t you like it?”_

Richie’s hand snakes between them and grips his cock, and Eddie’s eyes close against the visage of the smiling clown as he sobs, coming for the second time all over Richie and his own stomach and chests.

Richie’s hips stutter, rocking into him once more, twice, before Eddie feels him coming. He can’t help the gasp he makes or the way he rocks down against Richie despite his own cock already spent against his stomach. 

Eddie goes limp beneath Richie, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. They stay like that unmoving, for what feels like a long time. By the time Richie finally moves, the come on Eddie’s stomach is starting to dry. Richie sits up partly, slowly pulling out of Eddie, making him wince against the feel of it. 

“Hold still.” Richie warns, his voice clipped as he finally retracts his hand from Eddie’s cheek. 

“Ow,” Eddie winces and jerks despite being told to stay still, and he sees Richie wince in sympathy above him.

Now that the fingers are removed, Eddie can feel the steady trickle of blood seeping into his mouth and his senses finally come back to him. He hisses and slaps a hand over his cheek, his other hand digging into Richie’s arm again. 

“Napkins.” Is all Eddie manages to say past the now, unerotic pain.

Richie pulls away and shifts around, looking for wherever he’d dropped the bag of food from the stupid burger place, until he finally finds and and returns with a handful of napkins. Apparently this place wasn’t stingy about them.

Richie shoos Eddie’s hand away from his face and takes his place, pressing the pile of napkins against his cheek firmly, holding them there to help staunch the blood flow. Their eyes meet, then, as Richie sucks in a shaking breath above him. 

A pause.

Then, at once, they both speak:

“Eddie, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”  
  
“Don’t hate me, I didn’t mean to-”

Eddie blanches and snaps his mouth shut, just in time for Richie to look down at him with the most incredulous look he’s ever seen him manage to pull. 

“What? Eddie, I stuck my fucking fingers in your face and made you bleed, why are you apologizing? That was so fucked up, I shouldn’t have done that, I should have stopped right then and there, or like, ugh, I don’t know - at least have noticed I’d done that to you in the first place-”

“Shut up,” Eddie bites back, cutting off Richie’s rambling. “I kept your hand in place when you tried to stop, I made you keep doing it even though you tried to stop. Don’t be an idiot and let me apologize for doing that.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for!” Richie snaps, frustration clear on his face even as he keeps his arm steady against Eddie’s wound. “I fucking - I could have really fucking hurt you.”

“I wanted it, though,” Eddie shouts back, his mouth pulling up into a thin line as he feels a blush rise to his face. It’s not the fun, embarrassment kind though. It’s the one that's fueled by shame. “I just don’t want you to -” His voice hitches and he glances away. They lapse into silence as Eddie watches a spider crawl up the opposite wall from him. 

“Don’t want me to what?” Richie finally asks him, shifting above him until his free hand lands on Eddie’s chest, where his shirt has bunched up. 

“Hate me.” Eddie huffs, and Richie laughs above him, which only makes his face burn hotter. 

“Wh - Why the hell would I hate you, Kaspbrak?” Richie asks, shifting back on his heels. “Like, I just had sex with you, in the middle of a fucking hallway behind a fast food restaurant right after watching you throw up. I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of hate.” 

Eddie frowns and keeps his gaze away as he speaks. “‘Cause it’s gross.” He mutters, his words getting garbled a bit as a trickle of blood pours out of his mouth.

There’s a pause, a heartbeat where Eddie fears Richie is going to come to his senses and realize that it _is_ gross.

Not to mention unsanitary. 

Richie’s hand grabs his face on the opposite side of his wound and turns him, until he’s looking up into his very determined face. Then he leans down and plants a kiss right on Eddie’s mouth, despite the blood and spit that’s still pouring out of his mouth.

He can’t help himself as he opens his mouth to let Richie in, even though his face still hurts like a motherfucker and it’s disgusting, the way blood is pooling in his mouth.

Richie, though, laps into his mouth despite this, his hand snaking up into Eddie’s hair until he’s pulling on it gently and practically fucking his mouth with his tongue. Finally Richie pulls back with a gasp, leaving Eddie blinking up at him a little blurrily. 

“Now,” Richie says, licking his lips. “Would I have fucking kissed you if I hated you, hmm?” 

Eddie’s face heats, and he winces. “Gross.” He says, even though he wants to say something else entirely.

Richie scoffs and punches his arm. They lapse into silence and help each other get dressed again - Richie helping Eddie more than the other way around, his back aching in a way that’s making it difficult to pull his pants back on.

He does manage it in the end, thankfully, and with a little support from Richie’s shoulder they grab the neglected bag of food from the floor and start to hobble back out of the hallway and into the fast-food place. 

When they get back out to the car, though, Richie stops and glances over at Eddie - who’s holding the wad of napkins to his face. 

“Shit,” He sighs, and Eddie gives him a quizzical look. “How the fuck are we going to explain this?” 

“The truth?” Eddie asks tentatively, but Richie cocks his brow and drops a hand to his hip. 

“Sure, Eds, let's do that. ‘Hey guys, sorry we took so long getting food. Eddie had a run in with _It_ and got his mouth puked in by two naked dudes, then had a panic attack after I saved him, and then we fucked. Oh, also I stuck my fingers in his stab wound cause I felt like it. Sorry, here’s your cold burger.’” 

“It wasn’t you,” Eddie finally admits, pushing the napkins against his face harder. 

“What?” Richie drops his hand.

Swallowing, Eddie looks away. “The - Pennywise. I saw him. I saw, I mean, I saw the other two you saved me from, too, while we were -” Eddie’s face turns beet red and he clears his throat. “I mean, but, I saw Pennywise. He made you - he was the one who made you do that. That’s why you didn’t notice, I think.”

“Eds,” Richie says softly, and despite his better judgement Eddie looks up at him. The look on his face is soft but sad. “Why didn’t you say something if they were still there?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t know, I was… I was _scared,_ Richie.” 

Richie looks at him like he’s dying. Eddie feels like the world's biggest asshole. Still though, Richie just squeezes his shoulder comfortingly where he’s helping Eddie stand instead of shoving him away in disgust. 

“Oh, Eddie,” He sighs, shaking his head. Then he glances around frantically, almost like he expects Pennywise to burst out from behind a parked car and scare them. Or maybe something else. “Let’s talk about this later, right now we need to get you patched up before you like, go septic, or whatever.” 

Eddie slaps his arm, “Fuck you, I’m not going to go septic from this, it’s not even a minor infection yet.” 

“Suuuure, that’s what they all say. Then the skin starts turning green and their toes fall off.” Richie jokes dryly, opening the car door as he helps Eddie slide into the passenger seat. 

“That’s gangrene, and that’s not even how it works! It’s from loss of circulation!” Eddie shouts, glaring at Richie. 

“Whatever you say, Eddie.” He pulls his seatbelt over his chest, buckling it for him even though Eddie could still do it by himself. 

“I swear to god, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Uh-huh, just you do that, Mr. Can’t Stand By Himself.”

“And who’s fault is _that!”_ Eddie calls after him as Richie shuts the door, earning him a laugh. He can’t help it, either, as a small smile splits his face.

Maybe it’s all the trauma.

Maybe he’s just figured out what to call those emotions when he remembers his past with Richie.


End file.
